Make Your Sad Go Away
by RealForUs
Summary: Suspecting a trap, or a delayed reaction of some sort, Severus approached the package tentatively, wand drawn. Unwilling to touch the package in case it triggered anything, he magicked the lid open and peered inside where he saw…a kitten.


A/N: December 1997

 **Trigger Warning: Implied references to child abuse and torture**

 **Mentions of animal cruelty**

 **Make your sad go away**

 ** _(There is an actual quote 'The kittens will make your sad go away'!)_**

Severus dropped his head into his hands, acute pain pulsing in his left temple as he struggled to push down the niggling nausea that was only partly due to the relentless throbbing. The strain of the past few months…years…had taken its toll and he no longer felt merely emotionally prematurely aged; his body seemed older than his 36 years, his bones aching dully and his head top-heavy with exhaustion. Permitting himself a moment of weakness, alone in the merciful privacy of Dumbledore's office (he had never been able to reconcile himself to the reality of it technically being his now and he was acutely aware, despite his limited interaction with them, that the other staff certainly hadn't either ) – having blindfolded and gagged every single portrait (including – or, perhaps more accurately, especially – Albus) in an explosion of furious exasperation last week – Severus groaned miserably into his hands – muffling the sound of venting his frustrated despair merely out of habit.

It wasn't that he minded being so run-down that he felt as though he's just had a round with Bellatrix – and, as someone with experience of both sensations and therefore fully qualified to compare them, he felt there truly was very little to choose between the two – in honesty, it was the sort of personal suffering he took a vaguely vindictive pleasure in, feeling himself to deserve far worse; the annoyance was that it was crippling his mental faculties. Merely seeing straight and remembering to breathe was taking all his not inconsiderable efforts and depleted brainpower; so he was desperately hoping that, just for once (was it so much to ask?) luck would be on his side and the Dark Lord – who seemed to grow more paranoid with every bit of power he gained – wouldn't get it into his creepy bald head to call another accursed meeting. He was still suffering from the lingering aftereffects of his last encounter with an outburst of the serpentine humanoid and, more pressingly worryingly, he knew that in his current state he would be unable to withstand a direct legilimens assault with any degree of discretion. Oh, he could keep the shields up and unassailable – he didn't doubt that. His occlumency – after all this time – was impenetrable and effortless; it was the flawless deception: disguising the fact that he had any shields up at all, that took focus – a focus he simply could not muster at the moment. The Dark Lord believed Severus to play a highly important and useful role, but now that he was no longer an irreplaceable asset, as he had been in his capacity as alleged spy and informer, Severus did not deceive himself that he was crucial enough to be spared if Voldemort, who – it could have escaped no one but the even more deranged Bellatrix – was growing steadily more unhinged by the day, suspected a threat or doubted the ex-potion master's total, unswerving loyalty. Severus mused that, in fact, probably the only person in the Inner Circle, possibly in the world, who still had a hope of surviving an error – a single misstep – these days, was Bellatrix.

He didn't fear death – didn't even hope to avoid or postpone it; in the shadows of the night, with flame coloured hair whipping out of sight and mellifluous laughter dancing out of reach, he yearned for it, for release, the absolution of an ending…but he could not, _would not_ , die without finishing this, seeing it through to the bitter end, whatever that might be. He wouldn't leave Hogwarts to the mercy of the Carrows, not if he could help it.

So, praying to the baffling Christmas angel Lily had been in the nativity in her last year at primary school – a rather bemused Severus' first encounter with the concept of angles had been her proudly modelling her costume for him – all tinsel adorned cotton nightdress and deformed coat hanger wings augmented with gold lametta – spinning wildly in the kitchen at her house (while Tuney, sulky and jealous, glowered in the doorway), her eyes lighting up at his awed expression, delighted with his admiration of her and her mother's hotchpotch efforts, and he didn't have the guts to let on that it wasn't the costume that was taking his breath away… - Severus hoped that the Dark Lord would be feeling uncharacteristically sufficiently touched by the festive spirit, that the weary headmaster couldn't muster himself, and spare them all from another interminable 'meeting' of ever longer and more deranged rants which very few bothered to follow and fired up enthusiasm only in Bellatrix. He rather doubted his hopes would be fulfilled, though. When were they ever?

A far more urgent concern, however, was the halt that feeling as though he were already 3 feet under had wrought in his experimentation. He could feel an impending breakthrough in the formula teasing maddeningly at the edges of his overwrought consciousness – a missing, crucial ingredient…a detail he had overlooked – but he could not pin it down and he would take no risks when brewing something this complex, temperamental and potentially lethal. But the war was building to a crescendo – reaching a climax that Severus knew would also be a finale. _The_ finale. There would be no more false endings or interludes of peace. However it concluded this time, that would decide the fate of the world – wizarding and muggle; Severus sensed it with the same instinct he had when brewing from memory or imagination – a gut feeling that was hard to describe but never wrong. It was coming and soon. With his unique insight into the inner workings and deepest secrets of both sides Severus knew it with absolute certainty. He seriously doubted there would be another wartime Christmas.

He had told only one person of his suspicions. Narcissa. The previous month, at the end of the meeting as they dispersed, he had pulled her aside and hissed his predictions to her. Advised her to take Draco and get out of the country as soon as she could. Go far away – somewhere obscure and muggle – and stay there. Now was the perfect time to leave – the Dark Lord was so distracted he probably wouldn't even notice their absence, let alone attempt to pursue them.

Severus had been hesitant about telling her – concerned about allowing anyone to suspect the depths of his knowledge of both sides (not all of which had been shared with the reptilian megalomaniac who had just finished another hissy fit) but he had concluded that he had to trust her, for Draco's sake. Severus had seen too many young lives decimated by a combination of Dumbledore (about whom he became more disillusioned by the day – witness as he was to the planned chaos the manipulative genius had left behind) and Lord Voldemort – both in this generation and his own; had, himself, lived 20 years in the wake of one such case of devastation…had seen it happen to Narcissa herself, not to mention her family (he may have hated bloody Black but Grimmauld Place had been Order Headquarters for a year and he was not blind…Severus had seen the screaming portrait and the resentful, verbally abusive house-elf…had noticed how Black flinched every time the psycho banshee started before his façade of flippant annoyance came up… how he avoided certain rooms…and had finally understood, but hated Black all the more for having no corresponding understanding of him. He knew Bellatrix, however much he scorned and despised her, was not even sort of responsible for her own actions anymore…and did not by any stretch or warp of memory resemble the fierce, wild, bright young thing he had once had a cautious and grudging respect for. Her sister…the one that got away…but Severus Snape, if anyone, knew that you never really escaped your beginnings. He, one of a handful of very few who knew at least part of the truth, was aware that not only had Regulus Black defected, he had taken his own life too – not much older than Draco was now and in much the same position…).

Maybe he couldn't save Lily. Maybe he couldn't save himself – or didn't even want to try. Maybe, when it came down to it, all his efforts would go to waste and he wouldn't even be able to save Harry bloody Potter – maybe Weasley and Granger would go down with him and there was nothing Severus Snape could do about it, in the end, because maybe he was as helpless as he had always been. But Draco Malfoy didn't have to end that way. There might still be something he could do about that. A way to try to make up for all the ways he had failed him so far. Maybe Draco could be spared the ending.

Severus Snape had never been one to delude himself. He knew full well that there was a good chance there would be no happy ending – that after all they had suffered and sacrificed and been through, they would lose, because Albus had asked too much of a boy no more than a child with a talent for nothing but trouble and luck that must eventually run out. Didn't he have enough personal experience of unhappy endings to expect them by now? The thing was, if they stayed, he could see no happy ending for the Malfoys either way. No matter who won, their futures looked bleak; and perhaps the smarmy, cowardly, conceited prefect eleven year old Severus had once been in awe of deserved to live with the fallout, but his son who everyone, so far, had failed horribly did not deserve to pay for his father's mistakes … and one of the beautiful, broken Black cousins should truly get away…So he had warned Narcissa. But detached, aloof, composed Mrs Malfoy had looked at Severus Snape with sad eyes and thanked him but declined with one word: "Bellatrix" …and he had known that, though his leap of faith had not been misplaced, it was a lost cause, because if Narcissa nee Black did not know by now that sometimes people were so far gone you couldn't help them – you had to cut your losses and let them go – then it was not a lesson that a bitter, newly appointed headmaster completely unable to relinquish a woman dead for over 16 years, could teach her.

Narcissa had added that perhaps things may be different when the outcome was clearer – though he didn't really see how that would make any difference – she may reconsider, but Severus had nodded non-committally and departed, reluctant to make promises he could not necessarily keep. She might indeed reconsider, but she would have to do so without him, because Severus Snape had no intention of outlasting the war. He strongly suspected he would never see its conclusion, but even if he did, he wouldn't endure much beyond that. He would have done what he could, regardless of what happened, and might finally feel permitted to surrender.

The point was, he was running out of time to complete this potion - his last work, his final creation. The only bit of himself that he actually hoped would endure – an anonymous legacy by way of apology to the world that might go some way to counterbalancing those years spent actually in the Dark Lord's service. He was well aware that in bitter reality it didn't work like that – you couldn't atone for the terrible things you had done with good deeds. There were things that could never be cancelled out. However, even so, this potion might go some way to improving the lives of those he hoped would remain – such as Longbottom. Everyone who survived would have to live with the legacy of the war, whatever 'peace' might bring, and the realisation that you couldn't 'win', but that didn't mean anyone should have to live with the legacy of Bellatrix Lestrange's depravity. Undoing what she had done – it would be the closest he could come to making it up to Longbottom. Similarly to when he had invented the Wolfsbane Potion, with Lupin (the only person who had lost as much as Severus that Halloween) maybe at the back of his mind, it was meant as an apology that would never be verbalised to someone who hadn't deserved Snape's treatment of them. Don't get him wrong, he still resented them both furiously, but he had realised, in the aftermath of a particularly unpleasant memory based nightmare, that people always returned to what they knew – and his behaviour towards Neville Longbottom (amongst others) bore frightening resemblance to others' treatment of him in his youth.

A particularly sharp jolt of pain stabbed through his temple and he winced. There was an infuriating, high-pitched noise whirring in his ears and it resolutely refused to dissipate even when he shook his pounding head furiously. It took several minutes for Severus to realise that the noise was not merely a side effect of the oncoming migraine but did in fact result from an external stimulus. Having searched the office and established that the source was not any of Albus' pointless, inexplicable silver things balanced precariously so as to cause maximum damage if/when they inevitably fell on some unfortunate's head, Severus cautiously opened the door – anticipating one of the pranks that increasingly bordered on attempted murder and vowing that the person responsible for bothering him while in this condition would find their lowest expectations of the so-called Death Eater fulfilled.

Outside his office door was a small box and nothing else. Severus was unsurprised – he had not expected the culprits to hang around. The box was small and clumsily – or perhaps merely innovatively - wrapped in festive but eccentric paper populated by sparkling green and silver hippogriffs wearing Christmas hats and dancing. Suspecting a trap, or a delayed reaction of some sort, Severus approached the package tentatively, wand drawn. Unwilling to touch the package in case it triggered anything, he magicked the lid open and peered inside where he saw…a kitten.

Severus blinked. After many years spent in his complex role as double (or triple or whatever he was) agent, giving two very different but equally weird leaders the impression he was totally loyal to them, very little could startle Severus Snape, but he couldn't deny he was taken aback. Baffled, actually. The kitten was soot black and impossibly tiny, curled up in a ball amongst a pile of what appeared to be Quibblers. Less suspicious - he couldn't imagine any of Dumbledore's Army (or whatever equally pretentious name they had given themselves these days) putting a cat at risk – but utterly bemused, he cautiously picked up the box (whereupon the noise – obviously intended to draw his attention to the box – abruptly cut out) and brought it into the office. The movement must have woken the kitten up, because as he placed its makeshift bed on Dumbledore's desk it perked up with a yawn and a comically exaggerated stretch that seemed to defy Severus' understanding of skeletons.

"Mrraa?" Little paws appeared on the edge of the box as the kitten attempted to peer out. In its eager nosiness it overbalanced and box and kitten both came crashing to the floor. Severus knew a moment of startling concern for the petite feline before the box began to move determinedly across the carpet on four softly padding paws. The rather relieved but still somewhat perturbed headmaster bent down and lifted the box with the intention of gently removing it from the kitten. What he had not banked on was the kitten coming with it. Legs splayed so that it was jammed into the top of its airborne home like a crazy starfish, the kitten looked up at Severus and repeated its curious "Mraa?"

Severus put the box back on the table so abruptly that the kitten toppled over and ended up back in the pile of newspapers. He actually had to steady himself against the table. Rationally, Severus had known that cats often had green eyes; what he had not anticipated however, was that, on a miserable, sleety night in mid-December, when he was failing to do paperwork that was apparently still mandatory in spite of the fact that he could basically do what he liked as he had the full backing of someone well on their way to becoming the unofficial leader of the world, he would be faced with a bundle of fur staring up at him out of Lily's eyes.

Collecting himself, with the firm reminder that it was a bloody cat, for Merlin's sake, he gently picked the disgruntled creature up. The resemblance its eyes bore to _hers_ was still eerie, but this time he held it together and was able to observe other distinctive features: the way its fur stuck out at odd angles and the tiny white bib that stood out starkly against its black fur. On closer examination he established that she was a girl and also noticed the label around her neck. Attached with blue tinsel was a small rectangle of orange card, bearing the words (written in purple ink and a hand he recognised but could not place) _'_ _In need of a friend'._

None the wiser, Severus looked in the box for further clues about the origins of the kitten – or at least the intentions of whoever had left her outside his office. However, the kitten didn't like this. Up until that moment she had seemed quite contented in his careful hands, but now he had turned his attention to something else she obviously felt ignored, and apparently it was a feeling she would not tolerate. With all the reckless confidence of inexperience, she took it into her head to launch herself from his hands – under what it quickly became clear was the misapprehension that she could fly. Severus felt a sickening jolt of alarm go through him as she tumbled earthward. He recollected – vaguely – Lily reassuring him once that cats always landed on their feet. Apparently, that rule only sort of held true for kittens. She _did_ land on her feet, but had evidently not accounted for the slippery texture of the old stone floor because her legs went out from underneath her so that she landed in an undignified heap.

Deciding that the fact she immediately scampered off to explore was sufficient confirmation that she was unhurt, Severus turned his attention back to the box. Apart from old copies of the Quibbler it contained a bottle of milk and a packet of unappetising looking little pellets triumphantly labelled _'_ _Vegetarian Cat Food'_ – this time in day-glow green ink. Ah. Now Severus recognised the handwriting. How could he possibly have been uncertain? Miss Lovegood. Of course. Who else would leave a kitten in a box for a known Death Eater with apparently no malicious intentions and not a word of explanation? Where on earth had she obtained that vile wrapping paper and the blue tinsel? – Severus wondered irrelevantly. The Carrows had put a blanket ban on Christmas - which wasn't really helping the atmosphere of combined terror, resentment and hatred in the castle.

Speaking of blue tinsel…it was trailing behind the kitten now. She seemed to notice it at the same moment Severus did and draw the obvious and logical conclusion that it needed biting. She spun in circles for several minutes, trying to out-manoeuvre the attached adornment - which always seemed to predict her actions so that it moved almost in synch – the end whipping away just a tantalising fraction of a second later. However she was not deterred and, undaunted, eventually outwitted the maddening, defiant decoration by tripping over the straggling end and getting tangled up. This brought her gracelessly to the floor, but that wasn't the point. She had conquered the blue snake and now proceeded to make sure it knew who was boss. When she was satisfied that it was absolutely dead she looked proudly up at Severus – preening herself with a purr that resonated from low in her chest.

Worried that she would strangle herself with the tinsel, Severus picked her up again and cautiously attempted to extricate the bundle of fur from the wretched stuff. Having been well and truly bitten for his troubles and exasperated by her uncooperativeness he placed her back on Dumbledore's desk and amused them both by watching her skate on the loose sheets of paper he had scattered across it.

Watching contemplatively while the kitten attempted to fight the colourful smoke that one of the silvery spindly instruments was producing – trying tirelessly by (very repetitive) turns to flee the terror and eat the possible source of food, Severus mulled over what on earth he was going to do now. He had no idea what the Lovegood girl thought she was playing at, but Snape, like every other member of Hogwarts faculty, had long since stopped attempting to fathom the workings of that particular Ravenclaw's mind. Frankly she was weird; but, if he was honest with himself, he had always been slightly intrigued by that quirkiness. He certainly made an effort not to be unkind to her - although he resolutely maintained that that was due to her occasional flashes of innovative brilliance in his subject rather than because she reminded him of himself. She was certainly bullied enough by the rest of the school that the last thing on earth that she needed was her professor adding to it, but, although he would never have confessed it – not even to himself – Severus rather envied her. She was an outcast, to be sure, but, by all accounts, she appeared to have mastered the rare art of not caring….Regardless, she obviously intended for him to keep this kitten – though why he could not say. Funnily enough, he suspected he would do so, though.

Tomorrow he would be faced with the very real problem of what to do with her – how to keep her safe from the Carrows' sadism that had cost more than one Hogwarts pet its life since the summer, how to stop her discovering Minerva and letting his secrets – the truth - slip while his former friend was in her animagus form, how to stop Dolores sodding Umbridge – on another one of her accursed surprise check-ups (just an excuse to spy on him, he was sure – their hatred was mutual and intense) – turning her into a creepy ornamental plate, how to her feed her (he was pretty sure the enclosed pellets were not edible and the Lovegood girl's delusional quest to raise a vegetarian cat – he was aware she'd already made several similar (and, needless to say, unsuccessful) attempts to convert Hagrid's 'pets' – would find no support from him… but that was tomorrow. Tonight he was so exhausted he thought he might pass out and felt as though he had been stampeded by a horde of hormonal blast-ended skrewts. Tonight he would relent and indulge in a dreamless sleep potion and tonight…the kitten had chosen to pee on the portrait of Albus Dumbledore – looking quite unconcerned about the significance of the artwork she was defiling.

For the first time in over 20 Christmases, Severus Snape felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a sincere smile. Suppressing outright laughter (Albus had not been given earmuffs after all and he was going to have to continue to communicate with the maddening man for a good few months yet – if for no other reason than because he refused to give up on Lily's son while there was breath in his body) he wondered who Lovegood had meant was in need of a friend – the kitten, or himself…because Willow (he liked that as a name – a subtle tribute to Lily but one he could use without it being a dagger to his heart every time he said it) might just have wormed her way into a frozen heart.


End file.
